The Arrogant Artist : A Billionaire Boss Romance (International Bad Boys Set Book 2)

cotton underwear. I imagine licking the stray droplets of water off her creamy white skin. Then down between her breasts, across those dusty pink nipples where my teeth sink into her flesh, while I watch her head fall back in ecstasy.
My hand moves quicker along my dick.
Now, this is all kinds of fucked-up. The scenario currently running through my mind isn’t right, but it just won’t stop. The image of her dropping to her knees and taking me in her mouth, just like she saw that girl do to me last night. I’d wrap my hand around her wet hair and make sure she takes me all in, choking on me, bringing tears to her eyes, but knowing she loves every minute of it as she hums in appreciation like a good girl does.
There’s something about her that gets under my skin. She is equal parts fragile and strong. Situations where she looks like she’s seconds away from bolting, instead, she’s dishing it right back to me.
Last night? That was a dick move—the party, letting a girl give me head in front of Emily—but I was frustrated, I was angry, and I was turned on. I don’t know why this woman makes me so angry and frustratingly horny at the same time. She has me confused and messed up.
Not going to lie, having her watch me last night was one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen, but then she comes out with a fucking scorecard. Pushing me. Daring me. I wanted to stalk up to her room and spank her creamy white ass until it was the same color pink as her fucking nipples.
My fist chokes my cock harder. I’m brutally jerking myself, angry that I am letting this girl mess with my head. She’s my assistant, an employee, and no one special. Yet, when I look at her, I see color again. The outer edges of my dark world have the faintest glow of light surrounding them. The problem here is it pisses me off even more because I know what it means.
I’m going to fight it.
I’m going to fight it so hard because she’s not what I want.
I continue to choke my dick to images of her running through my mind, and that’s when a floorboard creaks in my studio. My head whips around, pulling me from my fucked-up fantasy.
Reality hits me with a fucking sledgehammer as I see the woman playing in my mind staring back at me but in the flesh. Those emerald eyes sparkling with shock, embarrassment, and a tiny, ever so tiny, portion of curiosity.
Is she the kind of woman who likes watching her partner jerk off over her?
No. I bet this English rose has to have the lights out, and the sheets pulled up high when she sleeps with someone. I bet she doesn’t know how to let go, to fuck with abandonment.
Why do I want to show her? You have to still be drunk, Louis. These thoughts are not normal.
Her pink mouth is wide open, those apple cheeks are flushed the perfect pink, reminding me of her hardening nipples that are poking through her white T-shirt. It looks like she might like what she sees. This isn’t good—my hand won’t stop pleasuring myself. Why should it? She’s the one who has interrupted me, interrupted my alone time, maybe next time she’ll know to knock when she enters my studio.
I’m close, so fucking close, I can’t stop now.
Slowly, Emily retreats back out the door she came through.
I look up at the ceiling feeling like an utter bastard.
This isn’t me.
I tuck myself away. I’m sure this borders on sexual harassment, and she’ll probably sue me. Maybe she did it on purpose? Thinking it would be a perfect payday for her knowing she has enough witnesses on her side. I angrily pull open the studio door and see her running across the grass.
“Emily, stop!” I yell.
I’m half expecting her to flip me off, curse at me, keep running, but she doesn’t. I jog quickly over toward her, her cheeks are flushed, her green eyes wide with fear, and she’s unable to look at me. Shit! As I slow down to stand in front of her, I notice her arms are wrapped around her as if she’s trying to protect herself from me. Is she scared of me? I know I’m an asshole, but shit! I run my hands through my hair. I’ve never had a woman be scared of me before.
“Emily.” Her name falls from my lips slowly, so I don’t spook her.
“Mr. Marchant.” Now is not the time to be thinking that sounds hot coming from her lips. “I’m so sorry. I knocked, but the music was on loud.” She’s still looking at the ground when she continues, “I just thought maybe you needed something…” Her eyes widen as she realizes how suggestive that sounded. “I mean… shit,” she curses, which makes me smile. “I mean… to see if you needed anything professionally speaking, not…” She waves her hands in the direction of my crotch.
“Not?” Now, I’m teasing.
She’s flustered, which makes me want to keep teasing her. “I just didn’t want you to think I was trying to seduce you.” Her back straightens as she pushes her embarrassment to the side. “I’m not trying to seduce you.” She almost shouts the words at me making me burst out laughing.
She frowns. “What’s so funny?”
“That you think you could seduce me.” Her eyes widen in surprise. “You know who I am, do you not?”
Emily’s face turns red, and it’s not from embarrassment but more like anger.
“I know exactly who you are.”
“Then you know that you…” my eyes look her up and down before I go on, “… aren’t my type.”
She sucks in an audible breath. “Good to know because I don’t make a habit of sleeping with washed-up artists.” Emily’s eyes widen, and she quickly covers her mouth, shocked at what she’s just said.
She should be, I’m her fucking boss.
My gaze narrows in on her.